


Light

by orphan_account



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, don't touch me, haunted house au, it's cophine trash, spooky cophine trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7401706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delphine has been imprisoned for decades in the house she died in, by the force that killed her. She's watched family after family come, but never really leave. </p><p>She won't let it happen again. She won't let Cosima become his victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. _.. . .__. ._ _.__ ... . __ . _. _

Your memory is poor. 

 

You remember your mother warning you that going off to America was a bad idea. How hard you had fought against her. How could you be expected to settle down and marry before you had the chance to follow your sense of adventure? Faintly, you can recall following that drive right to the gates of the mansion for the first time. It should have been so obvious, right then. When you'd taught yourself English, you'd read enough horror stories to know that a magnificent home being rented out so cheaply could never end well. 

 

But things like that didn't happen, right? Not in real life. 

 

Not to you. 

 

Not until it  _had._ Not until you felt that burst in your side. Not until you had spent your last moments bleeding out on the hardwood, surrounded by the bodies of your roommates.

 

They're still your roommates now, although you don't speak to them much. You don't speak to anyone much, really. Mostly, you just try to avoid  _him._ The one behind all of this, the force that ended your life and resurrected you immortal.

 

The one who damned you to this hell.

 

* * *

 

They arrive in Fall, when the trees are twisted and bare. They won't be around long enough to see that spring does nothing to improve the scenery. 

 

The first few decades, you had tried to give the people who passed through here their privacy. You would have an eternity to get to know each other, after all. Might as well afford them some normalcy during their final days, even if they did not know they were being observed by a ghost. 

 

Of course, he would be watching anyway. But you could not control that.

 

The passage of time has affected your morals, though. Not as badly as some of the other spirits in this house, but still. You're not sure if it's curiosity or boredom that gets to you in the end. More than anything, you think, is a compelling sense of wonderment. Something similar to what brought you to America in the first place. You are fascinated by humans. 

 

Especially  _these_ humans, their little family so different than the others. A single mother accompanied by four grown daughters and a teenage son. What sets them apart more than anything, though, is the energy they bring to the estate. Most come bursting with excitement, amazed at the deal they had gotten on this beautiful home. They could hardly wait to begin their new start. You like these families... or, you like the first few weeks with them. They bring a certain light to the house. Life.

 

This group of beaten down misfits comes carrying nothing with them but more darkness. Surly teens and a struggling matriarch and so much  _anger._

 

It might be better, this way. 

 

It will make the ending less painful. 

 

* * *

 

 

It's incredible, how easy it is to learn every facet of someone's life when they cannot tell they are being watched.

 

The youngest daughter is sick. They moved here so that she could take part in a clinical trial. A last ditch effort, they call it once. A last ditch effort to save her life, that will instead end all of theirs. 

 

She doesn't looks sick to you, not during the day. She jokes and bickers with her siblings. She spends hours on the phone, speaking until her voice is hoarse and she's mostly just listening to the other party. Intimate sounding calls punctuated with a lot of "I'll be okay"s and "I promise"s. There are tears, sometimes. You try to find somewhere else to be during these moments.

 

It's not until night when her illness becomes evident. She falls into bed when the sun is barely setting, waking herself up throughout the night with coughs that often turn bloody. She gasps for a breath that her lungs refuse to take in, clutching her sheets and fighting against her own ailing body. 

 

It's unfortunate that this is happening to her. Through the gloom of a Northeastern November, and the storm clouds her family packed up and brought with them in their moving boxes, and even in this little corner of hell, you see tiny rays of sunshine in her. You're scared by what this means for her, because he  _hates_ anything that's bright.

 

Cosima, her name is.

 

You pity her.

 

* * *

 

 

You know his pattern well. He sits back in the shadows, making his observations. Dissecting the humans down to their core, in a way that goes far beyond your casual glances. It sickens you that once, he had looked at you in exactly the same way. Studied you until he devised the perfect way to torture you. 

 

Then, just as it went with you, he strikes. Slowly. Always slowly. He likes to savor it, especially these days. Only the stupid or the desperate move into this house now, even knowing only a fraction of its history. The victims aren't as plentiful as they were before.

 

Through the years, dozens of families and hundreds of people, one thing has always, always been consistent. He always goes for the weakest one first.

 

The moment you saw her gasp and choke, the first time she unwittingly exposed the light that emits from her soul, you knew exactly who his target would be. You could feel the vibrations of his laughter radiating through the floorboards, an impossible chill running up your spine at the thought of what was making him crackle like that.

 

His glee puts you on edge, and you almost wish that he would get whatever he plans to do over with. Just this one time, not to drag the torment out. 

 

Of course, he won't. 

 

No one is more patient than he is.

 

* * *

 

 

As fall transitions to winter, you find yourself growing fond of this twice doomed woman. There's an endearing quality in her, in the wild locks she wears her hair in, the owlish eyes that hide behind thick glasses. The spark that never seems to go out of them, even as she spits the life out of her with every cough. 

 

You appreciate her penchant to fall asleep listening to radio shows on the sciences, although it baffles you that her little phone is capable of playing radio. Very often, you sit with the slumbering woman, astounded by the discoveries that have been made since your death. It was your reasoning for moving here, of all places. To study biology. You had once been brilliant in the subject, but technology has made your expertise woefully obsolete. You like that Cosima shares this passion with you - it gives you a chance to catch up. A few times, you even swipe a book from one of her sprawling shelves. One you don't think she would miss. 

 

How long it's been since you had the simple pleasure of curling up with a book.

 

You make a mistake when you steal one that she _does_ notice is gone. The spot on her bookshelf stands bare for only a few hours before she sees it, tearing the house apart and demanding to know who took her copy of  _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone._

 

You put it back where you found it the next morning. Not before you've finished it, of course.

 

* * *

 

 

At this rate, you don't know how much of Cosima will be left to destroy. 

 

It started with the phone calls - or, the lack thereof. It was predictable, in a way. The lives of others do not end just because yours is. For awhile, it takes a bit of the light out of her. Just a bit, though. This comforts you.

 

What truly drains her is the disease that eats her from the inside out; you're starting to think that it must start with the soul. Her fits of coughing and spasms are no longer restricted to the dark of night, and she spends most of her time attached to an oxygen tank in bed. Her siblings try to cheer her up, reassure her that the treatment  _will_ work, that she will be feeling better any day now. 

 

You're not the only one who can tell that they're lying. 

 

One particularly bad evening, she returns from a day spent at the hospital, storming from the car to her room and refusing all offers of help. You follow her, not knowing what else you can do to help this falling apart girl other than make sure she is not alone. Even if she might as well be. 

 

She pauses in the middle of her room, leaning on her oxygen tank for support. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, defying the inflammation of her lungs that must be burning her with each inhale. She looks at the oxygen with a disgust you've only ever seen from the most grumpy of spirits. Well, other than him. But you would hardly call his rage grumpiness.

 

Impulsively, Cosima riles back and kicks the metal tank with all her might.

 

"Fuck!" She shouts, falling to the floor with the tank. Cannula ripped from her nose in the process. "Shit!"

 

"Are you okay, love?" Siobhan, the mother, calls from the other side of the door. Knowing better than to enter.

 

"I'm  _fine!_ Just leave me alone."

 

This isn't a Cosima you've ever seen before, and it frightens you. It happens sometimes, the darkness of the house corrupting even the best of people without even needing his intervention.... 

 

You kneel down next to the sobbing tangle of limbs and tube and steel, reaching your hand out halfway before stopping yourself. You haven't done this since the night you died, aren't even sure what effect it will have, if any. Either way, you're desperate for it. Even if it's only to make yourself feel better.

 

You close the gap between her and you, laying your hand on her back. 

 

Instantly, she recoils, jumping up as if she's been electrified. This startles you, but then again, what could you expect? Her red rimmed eyes are wide, scanning the room for an explanation. 

 

"What was that?" She asks. Clearly scared. Confused. You feel awful for this - you had truly meant to comfort her. It was stupid of you. You hadn't been thinking. 

 

"Is there anyone here?" 

 

You wish so badly that you could answer her, but none of the humans have ever heard you before. No matter how loudly you had tried to shout at them. How much you had tried to warn them. It was pointless to even try. 

 

Cosima sits back. Swallows hard. "If you're there... can you do that again?"

 

You shouldn't do this. You shouldn't. As far as you know, no one has ever exposed themselves to a human until it was far too late. But, the damage has already been done. And, if you're honest with yourself, you _want_ this. You want her to know you're here. You want to be known. 

 

Slower this time, your hand gentle but firm, you squeeze her trembling shoulder.

 

She closes her eyes, letting out a long exhale. "Okay, wait here for a second. Don't go anywhere."

 

You certainly don't intend to. 

 

* * *

 

 

"So, I saw this on  _Ghost Hunters_ once. _Awesome_ show to watch while you're stoned, by the way. If that's your thing."

 

Cosima sits cross legged on the floor, cannula back in her nostrils and a flashlight in front of her. With two fingers, she taps the side of it, making it light up. "That means 'yes', okay? And just don't do anything for 'no'."

 

You sit across from her, a ball of of nervous stress and agitation. His presence is palpable in the corner of the room - not even you can see him. Not if he doesn't want you to. You always know when he's near, though. You don't know how he will react to this. Chances are, he won't be too pleased. 

 

"Are you still here?"

 

It takes you a few fumbling tries, but you manage to make the flashlight turn on. 

 

Cosima processes this for a moment, stunned that her plan actually worked. You don't think she expected it to. Truthfully, you didn't either. She comes up with her next question, and resets the flashlight.

 

"Did you die here?"

 

You tap. 

 

The two of you are already falling into a pattern, Cosima immediately reaching out to turn the flashlight off this time.

 

"Are there others of you here?"

 

Tap. 

 

Cosima buries her face in her hands, shaking her head. "I can't believe this is happening... is this like, a dying thing? Closer to the veil or something?"

 

You don't touch it this time, keeping the room lit with the yellow glow. 

 

When Cosima moves her hands away, you can see tears in her eyes. Nevertheless, she turns the flashlight off. Ready for another question. 

 

"Do you have a name?"

 

Tap.

 

"Can you write? Or type on a keyboard? I'd... kind of like to know what that is."

 

You think about this for a moment. Fine motor skills are something that never really came back to you after death. Writing would be painfully slow and unreadable, and you never used a computer during your lifetime.... 

 

Cosima takes your hesitation as a 'no', and purses her lips. Thinking. "What about Morse code? I can print something off if you don't know it."

 

The prospect of proper communication is something you never dreamed of having with a human... even this simple yes or no method was beyond your imagination. You tap repeatedly for this, hoping that it gets your message across. 

 

"Dude, chill!" It makes you happy to hear Cosima laugh. "I'll be right back."

 

* * *

 

 

You study the system of dots and dashes Cosima has set on the floor between you. It looks simple enough.... 

 

"Alright, now... what's your name?" Cosima settles in with a notebook, ready to write down your spellings. 

 

It turns out being a little harder than you thought, and painfully slow. It doesn't help that Cosima often asks you to repeat letters. 

 

After several minutes, you finally finish. Cosima reads the words herself, and the flips the notebook for you to see. "Delphine Cormier? Is that right?"

 

You tap the flashlight, leaving it on for yes. 

 

"I've got a Frenchwoman in my bedroom," Cosima giggles. "I am downright scandalized."

 

Feeling a little cheeky, you begin to write out a new word. 

 

_Enchantée._

 

Cosima laughs at this. " _E_ _nchantée_ yourself."

 

As much as this simple interaction pleases you, you realize now that you're wasting time. This is the only chance you've ever had to forewarn someone of the horrors that were to come. A chance to save one of the families to own this house. A chance to save this girl, even if it was only to die in a more peaceful way. 

 

_You need to leave._

 

Cosima looks at her paper for a long while. "What do you mean?"

 

A monstrous wall of anxiety is building within you, and you cut out words to speed your tapping along.

 

_Get out of house._

 

"Why, Delphine?"

 

You answer in the only way you know how.

 

_Him._

 

You can almost feel Cosima's meager breath leave her body. She looks up at you with big eyes, voice suddenly very soft. "Is he here now?"

 

You don't want to scare her, but you also don't want to lie to her. Maybe she needs to be scared... maybe it will motivate her to do as you say. 

 

Tap. A giant, yellow, _yes._

 

No sooner than Cosima registers your answer, you are blown back, sent flying across the room. Away from Cosima. Away from your idiotic attempt to outsmart him when he was standing  _right there._

 

Cosima screams, a raw, primal sound. The sound of someone who knows they are about to die. He chooses now to reveal himself to you, and you watch as his pitch black form tackles her, pinning her to the floor by her shoulders as she struggles and cries. His knee digs into her back, his talons sinking into her skin, and it's too much pressure for her frail body, cries cutting off because _she can't breathe._

 

In sixty years, you have never once confronted him. You have always been careful around him, watched yourself, followed each of his commands without question. You have watched him maim and kill innocent people and you've  _done nothing._

 

You run at him, ready to tear him off Cosima and face whatever repercussions he might throw at you. You will gladly take anything if it means the end of you being a coward. The end of you being a borderline accomplice to his cruelty. 

 

He disappears just before you reach him, leaving behind a sputtering Cosima whose lips are stained ruby and cheeks streaked with tears. You should have seen it coming. 

 

He won't kill her so soon. He hasn't made her suffer enough.

 

A half second later, Cosima's mother - as well as half her sisters - burst in, flipping the bedroom light on and talking over each other. You move out of the commotion, thoroughly ashamed of what you've let happen tonight.

 

"Cosima, chicken, what happened?" Siobhan kneels down at her side just as you did earlier.

 

 "We have to get out of here," Cosima gasps. "Mom, we have to go."

 

 _Good._ At least you've accomplished your goal. They will go someplace safe, someplace where the light in Cosima can flourish. 

 

"What are you talking about? What happened to you?"

 

"I don't know, something just attacked me!"

 

Cosima struggles to sit up, pulling at the fabric of her shirt. "Look! It was digging its nails into me."

 

Thoroughly perplexed, Siobhan shakes her head. "There's nothing there, love."

 

 _Damn._ It was just like him, exactly what he liked to do at first. Terrorize the one, and making sure none of the others would believe them. 

 

"Okay, then," Cosima sets up the flashlight that had been flung to the side, her shaking hands almost keeping her from doing the job. "Delphine, come turn the flashlight on!"

 

You're happy to comply, begin to rejoin her, but you haven't even moved an inch when you're yanked back.

 

You feel him at your neck, fiery hot breath and a grip of iron. 

 

No. 

 

Your struggling only amuses him. He laughs at your helplessness and at Cosima begging you to prove to her family she was telling the truth. He laughs at his own _fucking_ game. 

 

You hope that he feels your anger. It's the only weapon you have. 

 

* * *

 

 

He leaves along with Cosima's family. His work for the night is done - everyone now thinks that the stress of her illness is causing Cosima to believe complete nonsense. Like that an evil spirit wants to kill all of them.

 

They won't leave. Not tonight. 

 

Cosima sits up well into the early morning hours. Bedroom light left on. You stay with her, too worried to leave her unattended. Every now and then, you brush your fingers along her arm or through her hair. A small message that you're still here. That you'll keep her safe. It startles her, but she seems to appreciate it after she realizes you're not him. 

 

"My girlfriend broke up with me last week, you know," she says around the time the sun rises. "She wasn't really cool with the whole long distance, about to be  _really_ long distance thing. We moved across the country so I could get this treatment, and then... today they told me it isn't working. I'm gonna die. I have no idea what's going on in this house, but whatever it is, I lead my family into it for  _nothing._ "

 

You can't remember the last time you spoke, but you open your mouth now. " _Je suis vraiment désolée._"

 

She doesn't hear you. 

Shaky, either from exhaustion or her encounter earlier, she stands. Goes to pick the flashlight up off the floor. "Can you help us?"

 

You don't think it's wise to make this promise to her. Not when you are so  _powerless_ compared to him. Not when you are so weak. Together, you're a ghost and a terminally ill young woman, up against an ageless, all powerful deity. What chance do the two of you have?

 

Cosima sighs, returning to bed with the flashlight clasped in her hands. She's exhausted, and sick, and so obviously overwhelmed. These facts are just side-notes to you, though. They are nothing compared to the soft light that still glows within her, still there, still burning, even after having the foundation of her life blown apart. Even after being attacked by something she couldn't even see. Even though something just as sinister runs through her every cell. Despite  _everything,_ the light is still there. It's not something you could have managed yourself. Not while human, and not now. 

 

You'll fight for that light. You won't let it go out a moment too soon. 

 

You shine a firm and determined  _yes._

 

 


	2. . __ .__. . _._. .... . __ . _. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW THIS UPDATE TOOK LONGER THAN I EXPECTED! Unfortunately I made the horrible mistake of taking summer courses, but they're wrapping up right now, so I should be able to get on a more reasonable posting schedule soon. Many apologies and thanks to everyone who read, liked, and commented on the first chapter! I was so happy to see the support, and I hope you all enjoy chapter two!

It's too cold for Cosima to be outside. 

   
 

You protested when she slipped off her cannula and headed for the balcony. The morning is still too early to have staved off the chill from the night before; the pink, low hanging clouds promise flurries of snow later on. 

   
 

"Will you stop?" She snaps after the third time you tug on her wrist. "Being there was freaking me out. I kept waiting for something to jump me." 

   
 

You pause just short of explaining that it's no better out here than it is inside, that all she's doing is damaging her already frail health. If the illusion of safety brings her some comfort, then you don't have the heart to shatter it.  

 

The two of you settle into silence, filled only by hooting owls and the rustling of wind. The cold doesn't seem to bother Cosima, and you certainly don't mind it. You've always liked it out here, actually. From this height, you can just barely see over the iron gate surrounding the property. Your prison door. The wooded landscape that lays beyond differs only in that it's forbidden to you, but even the reminder that there is something _more_ out gives you a peculiar kind of hope.  

   
 

How easy it is to forget that out there, the world is still thriving....  

 

Cosima leans her elbows against the railing, puffing on the tip of a little metal box. It's not the same as the cigarettes you used to smoke, but for a moment, you are transported back to your days as a college undergrad. The winter mornings in Paris were much like this one, and you always woke early. If not to go to class, then to study, or to get into the lab early. Always remembering the words of a teacher you had in your final year of high school, the only woman you knew who had gone into the sciences.  _'When I was in school, I had to work twice as hard as my male classmates for a fraction of the credit they received. If this is the path you want to take, you will have to do the same.'_  

   
 

You were a diligent student, but every morning started with cigarettes. It was a ritual of yours. A time to be still. Taking in the nicotine, watching the tendrils of smoke swirling up into the frigid air. Flicking embers that would glow on the pavement for just a second before burning out. It was, to you, an art made especially beautiful by how unintentional it was.  

   
 

You wonder if Cosima feels the same way.  

   
 

 _'I miss smoking.'_    
 

   
 

This message is relayed by tapping on her arm. Now that you're getting the Morse code alphabet memorized, it's faster and more convenient than using the flashlight. The only drawback is that this method seems to be harder for Cosima to understand.  

   
 

"Yeah," she finally answers after filling in the holes of what she must have missed. "I'm gonna miss it too, I guess. Little things and all that." 

 

She shrugs and holds the vaporizer out to you. From the smell, you can tell that it's not tobacco she's imbibing in. Cigarettes were well and good - everyone smoked cigarettes. You never would have considered using drugs, though. That was the behavior of indigents. Not someone like you, with such a shining future.  

   
 

You scoff at this thought. You did everything right in your human life, and look at where it got you.  

 

The liquid sizzles and crackles as you take a pull from the device. It's milder than you would have thought. Less heady. You inhale the drug into your lungs with little care, only be punished by a burning sensation that makes you hack. A burning sensation that shouldn't be  _possible._

   
 

"Damn, that's weird," Cosima mutters at the disembodied vapor clouds. "Uh, no offense or anything." 

   
 

 _'That was awful.'_    
 

   
 

Cosima smirks, bringing the tip back into her own mouth. Handling it better than you did, even with her damaged lungs. "Amateur." 

 

You don't think that the drugs are having the effect on her that she wanted. She seems jumpier. A few times she throws her head back to look through the sliding glass door, as if she had just heard something from that direction. 

   
 

"Can he hear us out here?" She asks in a low voice, motioning to the door. 

   
 

 _'He isn't near. But I don't know if that matters or not.'_  

   
 

Cosima nods, erring on the side of caution by speaking softly as she continues. "What's this guy's trip? I mean, what does he want from us?" 

 

 _He wants to play his game. The players are all coincidental.'_    
 

   
 

"Right, so, attacking me last night was just some kind of joke to him?" 

   
 

 _'Be thankful it wasn't more.'_  

 

You know every bit of how terrible that was for her, but in the grand scheme of things, being scared half to death was about as good as she could have hoped for.  

   
 

"Whatever," Cosima dismisses. "Do you know anything at all about him? Like, maybe a name?" 

   
 

 _'None that I know of.'_  

   
 

"Okay, so... what do you know?" 

   
 

You take a moment to think about this. What you know and don't know about him could each fill a book of their own. You have to narrow it down to the most useful pieces.  

   
 

 _'I know his pattern. I can predict how he will act, most of the time. He has changed over time, but he is still very predictable.'_    
 

   
 

The message takes you a few minutes to tap out, and you have to start over entirely three times because Cosima had forgotten what you said. The initial rush of finding a communication method is starting to wear off; you're left with more frustration than anything else.  

 

But, once the message has been received and understood, Cosima nods in an odd, calculating way. "Right, right... that's good. That'll help." 

   
 

 _'All we have to do convince your family to leave.'_    
 

   
 

You mean this as a reminder, because you don't like the way Cosima's tone and expression hold the tell-tail signals that she's formulating a plan.  

 

 _You have to stay focused on that.'_    
 

   
 

At that moment, Cosima coughs into her elbow. To her intoxicated mind, it probably sounds very convincing. But you don't fail to pick up on how forced it sounds. "Uh, I think I'm gonna go inside." 

   
 

You don't try to stop her, don't try to continue the conversation. It's not the best of omens, if you're already keeping secrets from each other only hours into your partnership. But all you can do is hope that, if she's thinking what you believe she's thinking, then it's just a foolish thought brought on by the marijuana in her system.  

   
 

Only someone who was not in their right mind would come up with such a thing. 

 

* * *

 

 

Cosima sleeps through morning and into the early afternoon. When she wakes, her mother insists on taking her back to her doctor, claiming that she read on the internet that oxygen deprivation can cause hallucinations and paranoia. Cosima might be stubborn, but her mother seems to be the one she inherited the trait from.  

   
 

Left to your own devices for the day, you find yourself surprisingly lonely. You've gone for decades barely speaking to anyone, but after making this one true connection with someone.... 

   
 

You wonder what you will do once she is gone.  

 

* * *

 

 

"I swear to God," Cosima speaks through a clenched jaw, shoving a prescription bottle of anti-anxiety medication into the back of a drawer, "The second you get sick, it's like you're not even an adult anymore. Everyone treats you like you're some stupid kid." 

 

 _'People don't know how to act around illness. I was in training to become a doctor. I saw this many times.'_    
 

   
 

For a moment, this seems to distract her from her miniature tirade. "Hold up - you were studying biology _and_ medicine? Did you ever sleep?" 

   
 

 _'English has a saying for that, no?'_  

   
 

"You can sleep when you're dead," Cosima confirms with a chuckle. "No one told me that ghosts have such a great sense of humor." 

 

You think of all the surly residents of this house, how miserable and resentful they are of their afterlife that they spit venom at anyone who comes near. How many times you've fallen into the same depression. 

   
 

You think of him.  

   
 

 _'I don't think it's universal to all of us.'_    
 

   
 

"Fair enough," Cosima shrugs. "You're all people too, right?" 

   
 

 _'Used to be.'_  

   
 

It's something you can't stop yourself from saying. There is such a distinct line between what is  _us_ and what is  _them_. A line that one can never cross back to once they step into the world of the dead, regardless of what they once were. 

   
 

"C'mon. You can't say that. Just look at what you're doing - out of all the spirits you said are here, you're the only one who offered to help us. That's gotta count for something."  

   
 

She says this casually, giving her shoulders another shrug like it's nothing.  

 

You start to tap out your response, start to tell her how much that simple statement means. But before you can she pulls her arm away from you. "And I think that, if we work together... maybe we can do a lot of good."  

   
 

The tone from this morning is back, and stronger than ever.  

   
 

You decide to play coy.  

   
 

 _'What do you mean? We're going to save your family.'_    
 

   
 

"Yeah, but someone else is just going to move in here eventually. This is just going to keep happening.... unless we can put an end to it. For good."  

   
 

It seems that you were the one who was being foolish. You should have stomped this idea out the second you saw it flashing through her eyes.  

   
 

 _'You can't.'_    
 

   
 

"But you said -"  

   
 

 _'I said you can't.'_  

 

Cosima holds her palms up, "Okay, I get it. I've already asked you to take a risk here, and now I'm doing it again. But can we think rationally?" 

   
 

There are many things you could say in response to this, but can't seem to find one that wouldn't be intentionally hurtful. You decide to wait for her to explain herself.  

   
 

"If there's anyone who's gonna do this... I think it  _should_ be me." 

   
 

What she's telling you clicks into place immediately. She's willing to give up the precious few months she has left, for the chance to save the years of someone else. 

   
 

 _'You will get your family killed.'_  

 

It's the only leverage you have, if she's forgotten the value of her own life. Unfortunately, it seems that she's already thought of it.  

   
 

"There has to be a way to get them out, and then you and I do whatever it is we have to do." 

   
 

It's a hilariously vague plan. One that will take extensive creativity to fill in, assuming that killing him is even  _possible._ You've certainly never seen him show any signs of weakness, any vulnerabilities. You would have no idea where to even being with finding something like that out.  

   
 

You should say no. The chances of even coming close to success are near zero, and the risk of inciting his rage even further....  

   
 

You would be crazy to agree to this.  

 

You would be walking the person you are trying to save directly into a suicide mission.   

   
 

And yet... her conviction, her determination, makes you think that she's not asking for your permission. Just like before, when she asked you for help, you can't outright deny her. 

   
 

 _'I will have to think about it.'_    
 

   
Cosima seems just as surprised at the words as you are having said them. "Yeah, of course. Take your time." 

 

You curse the spell she has you under 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You retreat to your place of refuge: the attic.  

   
 

He almost never comes up here. Frankly, you have no clue where he goes most of the time, nor do you particularly care as long as it isn't anywhere around you. The room is cluttered with abandoned possessions and covered in dust, but all of this you can overlook for how quiet it is.  

   
 

You use this silence to think.  

   
 

A future without him is unimaginable to you. You think you would simply cease to exist, if the curse he put on this house was broken. That was what you had always assumed happened when you died. Scientifically, it made the most sense.  

   
 

Even this is preferable to the life you have now.  

   
 

But of course, there is still the challenge of slaying the dragon.  

   
 

Your sacred silence is broken by a shout, followed closely by pounding footsteps. Nothing terribly uncommon - if a day were to go by without a fight between spirits, it would be cause for celebration. Still, you're annoyed that the footsteps seem to be coming toward you, even more so when the door flies open and...  _oh._  

   
 

A tiny girl stands with her back pressed against the door. Charlotte.  

   
 

"Sorry," she says when she spots you. "Rachel got mad at me." 

 

This doesn't shock you. Rachel spends her days patrolling the house like it's her kingdom, flanked by two lackeys named Paul and Daniel. Always willing to help out when he needs a victim held down. "Ah, well. You know how she is." 

   
 

Charlotte just seems relieved that you're not kicking her out. "She's always mad." 

 

You gesture to the little circular window, where you can see all of the other ghostly children playing in the fresh snow. "Why aren't you outside with the others?" 

   
 

"I don't like any of them," Charlotte sighs, backing away from the door. Coming closer to you. "I wish they had a girl my age with them. Then I could have a new friend." 

   
 

"That's a terrible thing to wish for." 

   
 

"How come? You made a friend." 

   
 

It looks like you aren't the only one with a fondness for spying. "That's different."  

 

"Why?" 

   
 

There are so many answers to that question.  _Because I didn't ask for this. Because I'm trying to help her. Because it's complicated and you'll understand when you're older, now stop asking._  

   
 

"Why don't you give the other children another chance? Rachel might bother you less if you stuck together." 

 

"They made fun of me."  

   
 

It seems that children, dead or alive, are still children. "Why don't we make a deal, then? If you try to play with them and they tease you again, come and find me. Let me handle it." Truthfully, you don't know what you would do to them, but you make it more convincing by following your threat up with a wink.  

   
 

This gets a tentative smile out of Charlotte. "Okay. Can I stay up here until Rachel's gone?" 

   
 

"Of course you can." 

   
 

Charlotte doesn't try to make conversation again, passing the time by plundering through boxes. You're glad for this.  

   
 

You need the time to think. 

   
 

* * *

   
 

   
Cosima is asleep by the time you make it back to her darkened room. You don't like it, but you gently shake her awake. You need to talk to her now, before you lose the courage to do so.  

   
 

"Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me," she mumbles after startling awake.  

 

 _'Sorry. I just have to tell you. I made up my mind.'_  

 

"And?" 

 

 _"And... I'm on your side.'_  


End file.
